


The Smallest Empty Space

by YellowMustard



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Established Friendship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oneshot, Sleepy Cuddles, Tree Bros, angst but only because evan has zero self esteem, boys crushing HARD, evan is pining, snuggly warm feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 05:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21333343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowMustard/pseuds/YellowMustard
Summary: Something is different.It's the first thought that begins to take shape in Evan's half-awake brain, sluggish and fuzzy and indistinct.Something has changed.(OR: Connor is cuddly. Evan is confused and pining and also a bit stupid.)
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Comments: 48
Kudos: 370





	The Smallest Empty Space

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever stop writing oneshots and attempt a chapter fic again? I hope so. One day. 
> 
> In the meantime, here's some fluff with feelings~
> 
> Thank you for the random influx of support I've received in the past week or so! You guys are. Amaze. 
> 
> My tumblr is @theyellowestmustard , come talk to me! 
> 
> No TW: You should be safe to proceed :)

* * *

Something is different.

It's the first thought that begins to take shape in Evan's half-awake brain, sluggish and fuzzy and indistinct.

Something has changed. 

It's hard for Evan to tell exactly what. His eyes are still closed, and he's so barely conscious that he could easily drift off again at any given moment. He feels warm and heavy and safe and unbelievably comfortable,  _ god  _ has he  _ ever  _ been this comfortable in his life? 

And for a long moment...or a short one? Time's passing strangely in Evan's semi-lucidity, gripping and flowing, thick and gluey like molasses, and Evan is sinking, just sinking through it like dead weight, and he's just so  _ warm  _ and floaty and drifty...

And for a long/short moment Evan doesn't really care what's different. Who gives a shit, really? Why overthink it? Evan does enough of that on a daily basis. He ought to just go back to sleep, and…

It's weight.

Pressure.

That's what's different, Evan realizes. Belatedly.

Several different points of pressure, accompanied by heat. Heat, focused directly against Evan's collarbone, that seems to come and go in gentle little puffs.

Breath.

Somebody is breathing on him.

Evan reluctantly blinks opens his eyes, bleary and slow. Connor's bedroom gradually comes into focus; the vague suggestion of furniture in the darkness, the outline of his closet doors and his desk and Evan's backpack lying in the corner, unzipped with some of his stuff falling out. The curtains shut tight over the windows. Connor's clock radio, casting a faint red glow over his nightstand. The time is 4:43 in the morning.

The night before comes back to Evan like steady drips from a leaky faucet. Evan's brain kind of  _ feels  _ like a leaky faucet, so he supposes that's appropriate.

A sleepover. Nothing unusual.

A couple of movies. Like friends do. Connor always lets Evan pick the movie, and Evan usually goes for action or like. Screwball comedy type stuff. He actively avoids horror films, even though he actually loves spooky stuff. Because what if he freaks out and like...grabs Connor's hand or something? 

Connor would understand. Evan trusts that Connor wouldn't be weird about it.

But Evan doesn't trust himself.

Evan doesn't trust that he'd...actually be willing to let  _ go _ of Connor's hand. Like... _ ever again. _

Romance movies are also completely out of the question. For obvious reasons.

Evan can't quite remember what they'd watched last night. He'd not really been that invested in it. It's been getting more and more difficult for Evan to focus on movies when Connor's around, is the thing. It takes all his mental effort to just...keep his eyes on the screen, to keep himself from checking Connor out every five minutes like some sort of creep. How can Evan concentrate on a  _ movie _ when his best friend's eyes turn all soft and silvery in the flickering glow of the TV? And his ears stick out so adorably when he pushes his hair behind them? And when he's cold, he pulls his knees up to his chest and yanks his hoodie down over them until he's like, 85% hoodie, with just his head and his toes poking out? 

How is Evan supposed to function when Connor is just so… _ Connor-y?  _

And to make matters worse, there's all the  _ touching _ that's been happening lately.

Evan... doesn't know what to make of it, honestly. 

He knows it absolutely does  _ not  _ mean what his brain hopefully suggests it could mean. Not a  _ chance.  _

Connor is his best friend. Connor knows him, and trusts him, and likes him. 

But Connor definitely  _ doesn't  _ like Evan the same way Evan likes Connor. No way.

Which is why Evan spends every waking moment shoving his feelings down, trying to will them away. A mental tattoo of  _ platonic, platonic, like a brother, that's what Connor is _ , in hopes that if he thinks it hard enough it might become true. 

It hasn't worked so far. 

And all the  _ casual touches  _ haven't been helping. Especially not when they seem to be getting more and more  _ frequent.  _

Connor's just. A really tactile person. He goes in for The Bro-Hug every morning in the hallway, like he's not even ashamed to show anyone and everyone that he and Evan are friends. He rubs Evan's arms when he's feeling anxious, and pokes Evan's cheek when he says something dumb. 

That's just how Connor is. 

But lately it's been... worse. More. Little things, things that Connor probably doesn't even notice he's doing. A brush of his fingers against Evan's hand when passing him a pen in class. The bump of his knees against Evan's under the table at lunch. The last time Evan had tried (and failed) to watch a movie with him and he’d just thrown his legs across Evan's lap, blissfully unaware of the way it made Evan's brain shudder to a halt, dumbly repeating  _ leg leg leg oh my god there are legs on your legs leg leg leg. _

Evan thinks about atoms. 

Just to  _ cope  _ with it all. 

About that thing he’d heard in sophomore year that had completely blown his mind; the fact that you never really touch anything, because there’s always the tiniest subatomic space in between your fingers and whatever it is you’re touching. That touch is an illusion. 

It helps, sometimes. That technically, there’s space. There’s always space between him and Connor. 

But lying in Connor’s bed at a quarter-to-five in the morning, with  _ weight _ on him, weight that he still doesn’t fully understand, it certainly doesn’t  _ feel  _ like there’s space. 

It feels like contact. It feels like warmth.

It feels... _ lovely.  _

Evan takes a shallow breath, still struggling to mentally wake up, still trying to process whatever the fuck is going on here.

Painstakingly slow, Evan turns his head in the direction of the weight, tilting his chin to look down at his own body.

There’s a pale, slender arm draped over his chest. 

Which... _ definitely  _ wasn’t there when Evan and Connor fell asleep, pressed into opposite sides of the bed like the absolutely platonic friends they are, Connor muttering about how he ‘can’t be fucked to deal with the air mattress tonight'. 

Moreover, there’s a leg hooked over Evan’s. Under the covers. Evan can’t see it, but he can feel it. It’s definitely there. 

And like. The main thing is that Connor’s head is on his shoulder, breathing steady and quiet and hot against Evan’s neck.

Connor is  _ holding  _ him. Connor holding him in his sleep.

Evan’s immediate reaction to this realization is, of course, panic.

His heart breaks into a gallop, wild and uncomfortably rapid and Evan can feel it in his throat, in the palms of his hands, beating hard, too hard. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Or like, a stroke? Can Evan smell burnt toast? That’s a thing, right? He takes the tiniest breath in through his nose, just to be sure, but all he can smell is Connor’s shampoo.

And that sets his heart racing even  _ faster.  _

His mind is whirling and his pulse is thunderous and he’s starting to sweat, and he’s lying there, frozen in a dizzy state of  _ shit fuck oh my god shit _ , hardly daring to move a muscle for fear of waking Connor up.

And then comes a thought, even more worrying than Evan’s current predicament.

Connor... _ is  _ asleep, right? He’s not actually awake, not doing this as a joke to see how Evan reacts? Jesus, should Evan have laughed and shoved him off? That’s what normal dude-friends would do, right? Has Evan already been weird and given himself away and fucked everything up? Is  _ Connor laughing at him right now? _

His eyes flit to Connor’s face.

His lips are parted, and Evan swears he can see how rosy they are even in the dark.

His eyes shift a little behind closed lids.

He’s dreaming. 

And Evan  _ should  _ feel relief at this. That Connor is asleep; that this isn’t all part of some elaborate practical joke designed to make Evan embarrass himself.

But of course his dumbfuck brain won’t let him rest quite yet. Not when there’s so much left to panic about.

Next on the list is the alarming thought that Evan is the one who instigated... _ this. _ Whatever this is. That Evan somehow tugged Connor into a cuddle in his sleep, and now  _ Connor  _ is going to be the one to wake up and freak out. And not freak out in the way that Evan’s currently freaking out. Not in an ‘oh my god the boy I’m in love with is literally all over me right now’ way. More a ‘Evan what the fuck are you doing’ kind of way.

But.

But there’s no way. There’s no way that’s possible, really. 

Because it’s  _ Connor’s  _ arm on Evan’s chest,  _ Connor’s  _ leg that’s flung over Evan’s. Evan is like...the cuddl _ ee, _ not the cuddl _ er.  _

Because Connor’s the one on  _ top. _

Evan feels blood rush to his face at his own mental phrasing.  _ Idiot.  _

The last thought is the one that sticks.

The one that makes his mouth go dry and his heart practically lurch right out of his open mouth.

_ Connor is asleep. So he doesn’t know what he’s doing. _

_ And if Connor wakes up, he’s going to be...completely mortified.  _

_ He’ll probably never want to talk to Evan again. _

_ At the very least he’ll probably avoid him for a while. A long while. _

_ Because he doesn’t actually want this. He couldn’t possibly. _

Evan isn’t sure about many things. But he’s sure about  _ that.  _

Connor doesn’t want him.

Evan takes a tiny, shallow breath and holds it as he considers his options. He wants to take a deeper one, to calm his still-pounding heart, but he doesn’t want to risk any sudden movements. Nothing that could potentially wake Connor up.

Even though that’s...kind of inevitable. 

Eventually, Connor is going to wake up. 

Evan is slowly beginning to realize this.

Connor is going to wake up feel unbelievably embarrassed and awkward and probably kind of revolted, and then he’ll shove Evan away and ask Evan to leave and delete Evan’s number and that will be it. It will be all over. Evan will go back to being just Evan, solitary Evan, rather than half of something bigger than himself. Something better.

And there’s nothing Evan can do to stop it.

If he tries to shuffle out of Connor’s arms, he risks waking him up. 

If he does...literally  _ anything _ , he risks waking him up.

He’s trapped.

So Evan has no choice but to just... _ lie  _ there. 

Lie there and wait for everything to crumble away.

The thought makes him feel sick. Sick and trembly, with an odd aftertaste of vertigo. Like he’s been dropped from a great height.

Evan knows what that feels like.

He hazards another cautious glance at Connor. He’s so close than Evan can count his freckles, can see every delicate detail of his face. 

He’s kind of drooling on him a bit. Which like. Evan  _ should  _ find gross, probably, but he doesn’t.

Because it’s  _ Connor. _

And when Connor wakes up, this perfect little moment is going to end. 

And there's nothing Evan can do about it. 

So he might as well just...enjoy it while he can, right? Just enjoy it for what it is? 

Evan thinks so.

He closes his eyes, even though he knows there's no way he'll be falling asleep any time soon, and focuses his attention on the weight against his shoulder; the breath against his neck.

Connor's just...so  _ warm. _

Evan's imagination paints pictures of lazy morning kisses and fingers in his hair. Foreheads bumping together, whispered  _ I love you's  _ in the dark. And coffee, curled up under the covers together on a Sunday morning, and walks on rainy days with Connor's hoodie draped over his shoulders.

Evan's imagination gets carried away all too easily.

_ Atoms _ , Evan reminds himself. 

There is space between them.

There will always be space between them.

But that's harder to believe when Evan feels Connor shift, his arm sliding under the covers down to Evan's waist, tangling his fingers in the hem of Evan's T-shirt.

Evan stays frozen; a sentinel, watching.

But Connor is still asleep.

It's becoming increasingly difficult for Evan to stay still. His muscles have been locked up for so long that his entire body is aching, all over, and his neck is at a weird angle, because he's trying to look at Connor without jostling his head. 

And it's even  _ harder  _ to stay still when Connor's fingers drift lazily from Evan's T-shirt to his  _ bare fucking stomach _ , slipping under his shirt and resting lightly against his skin.

_ Fuck. _

_ Atoms _ _ ,  _ Evan's brain screams.  _ There are  _ _ atoms _ _ . There's  _ _ space _ _ .  _

The fingers against Evan's bare skin don't move, but they don't need to. It's already too much, way  _ way  _ too much, and Evan is frantically trying to keep himself in check; to stop his whole body from leaning into the touch, from pushing up against Connor’s hand. To stop himself from gasping like a complete weirdo. And to stop his brain from spiraling, from creating those lovely snapshots where Connor is  _ his _ , and they're happy, and everything is exactly how Evan wants it. 

Evan is going to ruin everything.

And then Connor presses his face even closer. And Evan  _ does  _ ruin everything.

The tip of Connor's nose is cold.

Which is funny, considering how warm the rest of him is. 

Evan knows the tip of Connor's nose is cold because he wriggles around in his sleep once more, and nuzzles his  _ whole face _ against Evan's neck, cold nose included, and the breath gets hotter, closer, and Evan can feel every feature of Connor's face pressed against him, his eyelashes and his cheekbones and his fucking  _ lips.  _

And, like an idiot, Evan fucking  _ shudders _ .

It ripples through him, despite his efforts to hold it back, and Evan immediately kicks himself because…

Because Connor's head is suddenly lifting, and he's squinting at Evan through the darkness, looking disoriented and sleepy. 

"You good?" he mumbles, groggily, words slurred together into almost-one syllable.  _ Y'good? _

Evan doesn't know what to say.

He can't say 'yes', obviously. Even though it’s the truth. He can’t be like  _ ‘yeah, actually, this might be the greatest day of my life because I’ve been dreaming about this happening for literal months now.’ _

And he can’t say  _ ‘ _ no’, because that would like...draw  _ attention _ . To what Connor’s  _ doing.  _ And embarrass the both of them even  _ more. _

So Evan just lies there, feeling very much like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide and frozen in horror.

Which is probably a bad move, because then Connor’s blinking down at the two of them, at the vaguely Connor-and-Evan shaped lumps beneath the covers where they’re twisted together like an awkward human pretzel.

“Oh,” says Connor, his voice raspy with sleep. “Oh. Sorry.”

And then Connor does something that surprises him.

He lifts his fingers from Evan’s tummy, tugs his shirt back down to cover the bare patch of skin, then just...puts his hand back. Like, on Evan’s stomach, over the shirt.

Like...like  _ that  _ was the problem.

And like...he doesn’t move. He hasn’t  _ moved. _

“Um,” says Evan, which takes absolutely all of his brain cells to do.

Connor lifts his head a second time. His nose brushes against Evan’s neck.

“Sorry,” Connor murmurs again vaguely. He’s barely awake. “D’you want me to—?” 

“No,” Evan chokes out, fighting to stop his voice from shaking. “No, you can...you don’t have to…”

“Cool,” says Connor.

Evan’s...not entirely sure what they’ve just agreed upon.

But Connor snuggles back into Evan’s side. So Evan’s not really complaining.

The room is silent for a long time. 

Evan almost thinks Connor’s drifted off.

But then the hand against his T-shirt starts to move.

It’s his index finger, Evan realizes after a second, stroking gentle circles against Evan’s waist. 

Like.  _ Caressing _ him.

Like.  _ On purpose.  _

It’s the tiniest movement. It’s nothing compared to the long limbs thrown all over him. 

But it changes everything.

Evan’s mind is spinning with questions, with doubt, with the still-lingering thought that this just...doesn’t mean what he thinks it means. He spins. With each rotation of Connor’s finger, he worries and he thinks and he wonders and he spins _ .  _

And somehow, with each lazy loop of Connor’s finger, Evan loves him more and more fiercely. 

And he has to do something. Or say something. 

Just... _ something.  _

The path of Connor’s finger grows gradually slower, less precise, with each circle. 

He’s falling asleep. 

Evan has to act  _ now _ . 

What he  _ wants  _ to do is ask Connor exactly what the fuck this means. The touching and the hug and the face in his neck. He wants to ask if Connor’s just...kidding around, or cuddling for warmth, or just being his usual tactile self. 

Or if this, like. Actually means something to Connor.

If  _ Evan  _ actually means something to Connor.

But he can’t find the will to let the words out. They’re all lined up in his head:  _ ‘What are you doing?’  _ and  _ ‘What does this mean?’  _ and  _ ‘I think I’m in love with you, please let me down gently, I am very fragile.’ _

But the moment he lets those words free, he can’t take them back. It’s a risk.

So, because Evan is a coward, he takes a more subtle approach.

With utmost care, heart racing, Evan turns his head towards Connor, and presses his mouth lightly against Connor’s forehead.

It’s not a kiss. Not really. Just the bottom half of Evan’s face, his nose and mouth and chin, pressed unassumingly against Connor’s head. Like. In such a way that if Connor recoils or backs off Evan could probably play it off like he just happened to turn his head that way in his sleep; like it was an accident.

But Connor  _ doesn’t  _ recoil.

Connor leans into Evan’s lips, nuzzling forward, and lets out this sleepy, contented sigh.

Evan’s heart is no longer racing, because it’s stopped. Completely.

Timidly,  _ very  _ timidly, Evan lifts one hand and gently weaves his fingers into Connor’s hair.

Connor sighs  _ again.  _ And there’s a soft little sound hiding underneath the breath this time, high-pitched and fluttery. 

_ Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit. _

Evan just...he has to say something. His brain demands that he fill the silence, insisting that it’s too  _ quiet _ , that quiet is  _ awkward _ , even though it  _ isn’t  _ this time, it’s cozy and warm and perfect just the way it is, but—

“Did you know touch isn’t real?” Evan blurts out. 

His voice wavers unsteadily on every fucking word.

“Hmm?” goes Connor, sounding like he’s barely clinging to consciousness. 

“Yeah. There’s like. Always a space there. Really small. Like atoms.”

Connor lets out a huff of almost-but-not-quite laughter into Evan’s skin.

“S’bullshit,” he mutters.

“It’s true,” Evan insists. “So...so nobody ever really touches anything.”

“Hm,” Connor says.

Evan feels Connor’s mouth open to curl around a yawn.

“So…’m not touching you right now?”

Evan swallows around the lump in his throat. He’s  _ acknowledged _ it.

“Guess not,” Evan croaks.

“Sucks,” Connor mumbles. “I  _ wanna _ be touching you right now.”

Evan is thankful he’s already laying down. 

Because he’s suddenly very afraid that he’s going to pass out. 

“I, um... _ why _ ? _ ” _

Connor snorts. Like Evan has said something funny.

“Ev. Come on. Seriously?”

Evan doesn’t get it. 

“I just...I’d like to know...like,  _ why _ you’re—”

Connor shakes his head a little, like he’s in on some joke Evan doesn’t understand. He smiles, and his closed eyes flutter open to look at Evan, just for a second, before sinking shut again.

“Shh. Sleep now, ‘kay?”

“But...I just—”

“Nope. Sleep. We can like...do this shit in the morning.”

“But—”

The hand previously at Evan’s waist creeps up under the covers to paw clumsily at Evan’s lips.

“Shhhhhhhhhh. Shh. I wanna do this when ‘m  _ awake _ , OK? Shh. Go sleep.”

Evan tries to sleep.

It takes him a very long time to get there.

He can’t help but try to piece together all the fragments of what Connor’s said and done in the past ten minutes, to connect the dots. But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t see what the final picture is supposed to be; it’s still just... _ dots _ , connected with disembodied lines, resembling nothing. 

What does it all  _ mean?  _

What is Evan to Connor?

What is going to happen in the morning?

Evan shuts his eyes, and thinks about the way Connor’s hair feels against his fingers. He wonders what it is he’s really touching, if everything in the world is mostly made up of empty space. 

Evan thinks that Connor is his favorite type of mostly-empty-space out of every mostly-empty-space thing he’s ever encountered. 

And, despite his ever-doubtful brain insisting that he shouldn’t even  _ think _ it...he wonders if he’s...if he could  _ ever _ be Connor’s favorite mostly-empty-space. 

He hopes so. He’ll keep on hoping.

For another three and a half hours, until Connor wakes up. While Evan sleeps, and while Evan lies awake.

He’ll hope. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> FYI my fave human drew THIS GORGEOUSNESS after hearing about The Concept for this story and I ended up basing QUITE A LOT of the fic around it because it's just so so good, y'all should check it out and drop her some love ok
> 
> https://c-e-c-r-o-p-i-a.tumblr.com/post/188759688495/just-let-these-boys-get-some-rest-connor-u-have


End file.
